


A Good Night Full of Mistakes

by DabMyWetties



Category: Pentatonix, Superfruit
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Awkward Sexual Situations, Awkward Tension, Drunken Shenanigans, Hangover, Implied Sexual Content, Language, M/M, Miscommunication, Scomiche, So much angst, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Walk Of Shame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-15
Updated: 2017-04-27
Packaged: 2018-10-05 15:16:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 8,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10311101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DabMyWetties/pseuds/DabMyWetties
Summary: It’s 7:43am.Scott’s been lying motionless in bed for 17 minutes. There’s a problem.





	1. Bad 4 Us

It’s 7:43am. 

Scott’s been lying motionless in bed for 17 minutes. There’s a problem. 

It’s not so much that it’s ridiculously early to be awake on a rare Saturday off. It’s not that he has to piss like a racehorse. It’s not even that he can feel everything he drank last night every time he blinks. 

The problem is that he’s not in his bed and he’s not wearing any clothes. 

He’s in  _ Mitch’s  _ bed, who is also not wearing any clothes, has a leg and an arm draped over him, and is snoring quietly, sound asleep. He has no idea how he wound up naked in Mitch’s bed or what the hell happened the night before. 

Well, scratch that. He has a vague idea of what might have happened. They’re both naked, after all, and there’s a purple hickey on his chest that certainly wasn’t there yesterday. He’s just not entirely sure how a spontaneous wine night turned into  _ this  _ and, more importantly, what he’s supposed to do about it. 

Holy shit, what  _ happened _ ? 

Struggling with his uncooperative, hungover memories, Scott again tries to bring to mind some clue about last night. His plans had fallen through. Mitch had been in a mood and hadn’t made any plans. They decided to get wine and get hammered. They drank the wine. There were shots of something - tequila, maybe? - involved. That was still clear. 

But between bottle three and 7:26am, when he’d jolted awake, things were kind of hazy. 

Britney Spears. There’s a memory. Mitch had played old-school Britney for like an hour. They both tried to do the choreography for  _...Baby One More Time _ . It was funny. 

And there’s another memory - Mitch beneath him, writhing, asking for things like  _ more  _ and  _ harder _ . Oh, god. Okay. Well, that happened then. Shit. 

That opens the floodgates. Glass after glass of wine. Shots - lots of those. Dancing. Laughing. An otherwise normal drunken night. The room was spinning and Scott laid on the cool tile of the kitchen floor to make it stop. Mitch thought that was hilarious and laid down next to him, laughing so hard he was crying. As he usually did at that level of inebriation, Scott slurred a “will you just kiss me already?”  

And this time he did. 

And here they are. 

And at 8:04 Mitch shifts. For a moment Scott thinks he’s moving in his sleep, but he tenses awkwardly and his body language makes it pretty clear that he’s aware something is not right. His eyes pop open, meet Scott’s, and go round as saucers.  

“Oh, fuck,” Mitch croaks. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspiration: Bad 4 Us lyrics - "I just want another good night full of mistakes"  
> Have you ever gotten a little too drunk and accidentally screwed your best friend? I have!


	2. Dangerous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments & kudos on what’s now chapter 1 of this fic. I’d intended it to be a short oneshot but people were asking for more so I’ll see what direction this takes! :)   
> Also - shit, I hate writing in third-person present tense but that’s how I started so that’s how I gotta finish. Let me know if I screw up my tenses at any point, okay?

****

It’s 8:05am and Mitch is on his bedroom floor. 

If this whole situation wasn’t so awkward it would be hilarious. But it is awkward, only made moreso by the fact that, y’know, Mitch is sprawled on the floor naked as the day he was born while Scott peers over the side of the bed at him in alarm. 

Once he’d opened his eyes and taken stock of the situation, Mitch’s initial response had been that of panic and flailing. In what had been possibly his most graceful maneuver ever, he attempted to disentangle himself from Scott while flailing and flailed himself right off the bed. 

“Jesus. Are you okay?” Scott asks. 

“Yes!” Mitch replies too quickly, his voice an octave too high. “No! Maybe! Did...uh… did we…” And it’s a dumb question because he knows that they did, has hazy memories of it, but he’s groggy and his mind is fogged and, really, what does one say at a time like this? 

Scott covers his face with one hand, rubbing his eyes. “Yeah. Just about positive we did.” 

Oh, god. Okay. Well that happened then. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. “Yeah, okay. Not sure of the protocol here,” Mitch says, grabbing a nearby stuffed llama to cover a little bit of his remaining dignity. “This is...uh…” 

“I’ll go. Shower. Maybe sleep off some of this headache,” Scott cuts him off. “We, uh, we can talk later. Or decide to never speak of this again. Something. Where the fuck are my clothes?” 

And that’s another awkward thing, because where  _ are  _ their clothes? They’re not on Mitch’s bedroom floor where it would make sense for them to be. Struggling with his uncooperative, hungover memories, Mitch tries to bring to mind some idea of what the hell happened. He’d been so incredibly drunk. Scott had slurred for a kiss, as per usual, and it sounded like a good idea at the time. That’s when things went a little sideways and off-kilter; it was a really, really nice kiss, at least in his drunken mind, and it got out of hand pretty fucking fast. They’d kissed, then a blur, then clothes were being tugged at, and… 

“They’re on the kitchen floor,” Mitch mutters, burying his face in his hands. “Or, that’s where we left them. I think.” Yeah, that’s not gonna be weird to explain to the housemates. “Just...can you, like, look over there or close your eyes or whatever so I can get something on and I’ll go get them?” 

As it turns out Mitch doesn’t need to go far to find their missing garments; they’re in a haphazard pile right outside his door. This is definitely gonna be weird to explain. He sorts through the pile, pulling out Scott’s clothes and tossing them at him. God, even their underwear didn’t make it into his room last night. What the  _ hell  _ happened? He can’t even look Scott in the face at this point. “I’m just gonna,” Mitch gestures towards his bathroom. “Let’s just, um, figure this out later. I am so uncomfortable right now.” 

And with that he scurries into the bathroom, clicking the door shut behind him and staring at it until he hears Scott leave for his walk of shame back to his own bedroom. 


	3. I've Been Thinkin' It Over

It’s 3:18pm. 

Most of Scott’s hangover is gone and a chunk of his memory of the night before is back after a hot shower and a long, long nap. 

There’s the guilt, too. There’s a lot of that. He shouldn’t have gotten so drunk. He knows better. He shouldn’t have gotten all needy and kissy. He knows better than that, too. It’s not fair, and it could have always led to  _ this _ ; now it has. Now he has to wonder if one dumb, drunken night of passion is going to totally change things with Mitch. This sucks. He banged his best friend and he’s not sure if that’s something you can just roll back. It’s always there, isn’t it?  _ Hey, wanna go get Starbucks? Remember that one night we fucked? Ha ha ha _ !  

The worst of the guilt, though, is over how he just ducked out of Mitch’s room that morning instead of sucking it up and at least trying to talk about the situation. Yeah, it was terribly uncomfortable. Yeah, Mitch was freaked out; he scrambled away so fast that he fell out of bed, for fuck’s sake. But Scott feels shitty about not even apologizing, or offering to make some coffee and talk things over, or  _ anything  _ but getting all weird and leaving with the drunken sex elephant still lumbering around the room. 

And now Scott is sitting cross-legged on his bed trying to figure out how to fix things, or to at least make sure nothing winds up broken. 

They have to talk. Ignoring the fact that they had sex isn’t an option. Even if they decide to forget about it and never bring it up again, they both have to agree to it. 

Maybe he should text Mitch to see if he wants to talk? No. It’s the least uncomfortable option, sure, but it’s lame and impersonal. 

Okay, seriously. If the roles were reversed here, how would he want his best friend in the world to handle things? Scott would want Mitch to just sit down and talk it over with him. He’d want him to walk right on in, sit on the bed next to him, and say, “Let’s get this figured out, sis.” That’s exactly how he’d like it to go, so much so that Scott stares at his bedroom door for a few minutes, hoping that maybe Mitch will do just that. 

Mitch doesn’t, of course, and why should he? The roles aren’t reversed. Scott’s the one who started this whole thing by begging for a kiss. This is mostly on him so he needs to be the one to apologize and to make the awkward first move. 

Maybe Starbucks will help break the tension. Scott Postmates their usual order and only then realizes that he has no idea if Mitch is even still home. Shit. It’s Saturday and they don’t have any work for the day; he probably did go out to enjoy some free time. Hell, as freaked out as he was this morning, Scott wouldn’t be surprised if he left as soon as the coast was clear. 

Still, he should try. 

Once he sees their coffee order is nearly there, Scott quietly makes his way downstairs. He takes a detour before heading to the front door to see that Mitch’s bedroom door is shut, offering no hint as to whether the room is occupied or not. He’s not sure what he expected. A neon sign, maybe? 

Better news when he opens the door to take their order from the courier, though: he can see Mitch’s car in the driveway, so there’s a good chance he’s home. 

Now to see if he wants coffee and, more importantly, if he hates Scott or not.  

Scott takes a couple deep breaths as he walks, trying to keep his heart from beating out of his chest. 

He knocks.  “Mitchy?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm taking a break from the current research paper (because it's driving me nutso-crazy*) so mayyyybe I might get the next chapter up later today or tomorrow? We'll see. I definitely have the story arc planned for this fun little project though! 
> 
> (* seriously, my sources are becoming outdated nearly as fast as I can find fresh ones because OF COURSE I had to decide I wanted to do a major work on 'organized disruption of communication on the internet.' If I'm not already certifiable, I will be by the time I'm happy with my sources and get that fucker written...)


	4. I Want Your Drama

It’s 3:52 pm. 

Mitch is half a step away from his bedroom door and reaching for the knob when there’s a knock, and then Scott’s voice. It startles him; he instinctively flinches back but his momentum was already carrying him forward so he winds up stumbling and smacking his elbow on the door. In an attempt to recover from that bit of sheer grace, he throws open the door to a blinking Scott holding - oh my god, yes - two cups from Starbucks. 

“Oh, hey,” Mitch says, trying to appear casual. “I was just on my way…” 

Scott’s face falls. “Sorry, I didn’t know you were leaving, I wanted to…” he trails off. “I mean, do you have a minute before you go?” 

Mitch tilts his head, bemused. “If you’d let me finish my  _ sentence _ , shit-for-brains...” he says pointedly. “I was just on my way to find you and see if you wanted to grab Starbucks. Apparently that’s a yes.” 

And the roiling pit of stress and worry in his gut that’s been brewing all day eases a little - especially when Scott cracks a smile. Mitch smiles back. This is almost normal. This isn’t a complete disaster. Scott doesn’t  _ seem  _ to hate him; he wouldn’t be holding coffee and knocking on his door if he hated him. 

Scott offers one of the cups. “Can I come in? Or do you want to sit on the balcony, or…?” Mitch quickly steps aside, taking his coffee and sweeping his arm back to indicate that Scott should come in. He does, hesitantly, and suddenly Mitch doesn’t know what to do with himself. Where should he sit?  _ Should  _ he sit? He’d been practicing what to say for the last three hours but he never thought about  _ how  _ to deliver his apology. 

It’s a small comfort that Scott doesn't seem to know quite what to do either. They stand there, awkwardly staring at each other for a moment. 

“Look, I -” 

“Okay, I just want to -” 

They stop, then try to talk over each other again, stop yet again, and it’s so ridiculous that Mitch can only laugh. Scott joins in and a whole lot of tension leaves the room. This isn’t exactly how Mitch pictured the whole apology scene going, but he’ll take it. 

“Let me go first,” Scott says once their giggles die down, perching on the edge of Mitch’s bed. Mitch hesitates, then sits next to him - not too close, of course. Wouldn’t want to make things weird or anything. 

“Look, this… I really screwed up, Mitch. I put our friendship at risk. I am so sorry.” He fidgets with Mitch’s comforter, face looking pained. “I know better. I shouldn’t have acted like I did, and -” 

Mitch holds up a hand. “Wait. Okay, I mean, apology accepted and all, but this isn’t all on you, Catherine. I’m more to blame. You had way more to drink than I did, and I’m the one who…” he pauses and swallows hard. “I’m the one who kissed you, so I should be apologizing here.” This isn’t going quite how he’d planned it. “ _ I’m _ sorry. You were just being you.  _ I _ crossed a line.” 

Scott looks to be considering Mitch’s words while studying his hands. “Well. Apology accepted too, but I don’t totally agree with your assessment.”  

They sit in silence for a moment. It’s not uncomfortable, even if a lot of everything else is. 

“It was a nice kiss.” There’s a smile in Scott’s voice, and Mitch looks up at him. He smiles back. “Damn right it was. I’m good at what I do.” 

Scott forcefully exhales a half-laugh. “So am I, usually. Hopefully that was the case during the main event, because I don’t remember much of it.” 

Oh. Well, that’s fucking fantastic. Both of them remember enough to know they had sex but neither remember enough to know if they enjoyed it. “Me neither, sis,” Mitch mutters. 

They’re quiet again for a minute, and when Scott speaks up his voice is … strained. And small. “We gonna be okay, Mitchy?” 

Mitch sighs and gives Scott what he hopes is a reassuring smile. “Yeah, just fine, henny. We’ll be laughing about this whole thing in a week.”  

It comes out a lot more confident-sounding than Mitch feels. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m moving chapter titles/inspiration going forward to Lady Gaga lyrics because I mentally fleshed out this story arc while I cooked dinner and danced (badly) to a random mix of her music. 
> 
> Updates may be slow for a bit while I tame the research paper monster.


	5. Everything Could Be Everything

It’s 11:18pm. 

It’s been three days since The Incident - as Scott now thinks of it. 

Things are weird. 

Things are really weird. 

It’s only been three days, though. Really, if you think about it logically, they’ve had less than 72 hours to process everything. It’s to be expected. It’s just a matter of time - probably just another few days - before everything is back to normal. 

That’s what Scott keeps reminding himself as he lies in bed after a borderline-disastrous Superfruit filming, anyways. After shooting for over an hour, they might have five minutes of usable content. It had started off fine, maybe  _ slightly  _ awkward as they made sure to keep a little space between them, but things went downhill about halfway through. Scott’s not even sure why he said what he said, which, admittedly, wasn’t the kindest comment, and he’s just as unsure as to why Mitch got  _ so  _ upset about it.

 

_ “I really don’t know. I’m the wrong person to ask, uh, for love advice, I’d say,” Mitch had responded during the Q&A.  _

_ “You’re...with a boy every day,” Scott had shot back. He’d intended it to come out more lighthearted than the deadpan that actually emerged, and, like it was happening in slow motion, he watched Mitch’s easy smile disappear. The joke hadn’t gone over well.  _

_ “Whoa,” Mitch said, offended. “Whoa, whoa, whoa.”  _

_ Scott chuckled nervously as fire glinted in Mitch’s eyes.  _

_ “I’m not a whore,” Mitch said, brows drawn. “Why the fuck would you say that?”  _

_ “I - no, that’s not what I meant,” Scott protested. “It was a joke, and…”  _

_ “It wasn’t fucking funny.”  _

 

While it wasn’t the angriest he’d ever seen Mitch, the next twenty minutes was, by far, the most anger Scott had seen directed at him. 

And Scott knows that it wasn’t the nicest thing to say. It wasn’t even true, but even if it was it doesn’t mean he thinks Mitch is a whore. He spent ten minutes apologizing repeatedly and another ten feeling a mix of guilt and irritation as Mitch railed at him about slut shaming and being disrespectful. Even though he thought that maybe Mitch was blowing this a little out of proportion, he really didn’t mean to hurt his best friend’s feelings. 

Once Mitch’s fire had run out, they’d finished filming with smiles plastered to their faces and as soon as they sang their goodbyes Mitch was off like a shot to a bath and hopefully a good night’s sleep. 

And as the clock nears midnight Scott can only hope that there’s enough editing in the world to make that episode work and that he and Mitch can get past this weirdness really soon. 

This sucks. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The draft is in for the research paper so I hope to have time to write fun stuff for a bit until revisions begin. :)


	6. I'm a Free Bitch, Baby

It’s 2:01am.

On a normal night Mitch would be asleep but this isn’t a normal night. He’s jetlagged and ecstatic and so eager for the next week that sleep isn’t even on his radar. It should be. He has this week in Paris planned out nearly to the minute and tomorrow starts early.

Also, there’s this distressing combo of relief and guilt that isn’t helping the sleep situation.

Relief. He has seven days away from Scott and the two weeks of awkward, uncomfortable interactions that have become their normal now. Scott’s been different; his jokes more biting and a constant edge to his words - and that’s when they see each other at all. Mitch has been keeping more to himself since Scott’s comment and the resulting argument during that horrendous Superfruit filming and Scott’s been out of the house on his own more than usual. A week without tiptoeing around sounds amazing right now.

But the guilt. He’s never wanted to be away from Scott for any length of time, ever, and this is new and uncomfortable and confusing. He’s seen the puppy dog eyes from Scott for days now every time the subject of this trip has come up. Scott didn’t want him to go, but he didn’t want to go to Paris with him either, and right now Mitch is grateful for that but it doesn’t feel too great to want to be away from someone you’re joined at the hip with. Plus, y’know, he knows exactly why this is all happening and that’s probably the biggest source of guilt.

Things are really, really weird.

Mitch was pretty sure the moment he woke up with Scott naked in his bed that they would be and, so far, he’s been right.

And those things are not getting better.

And it hits him suddenly, hours later, his body fighting sleep and his mind fighting the growing concern that he and Scott will never be truly normal again.

Paris is it. If this week on different continents doesn’t help them get over the awkwardness, even a little bit… well, it’s hard to finish _that_ thought.

No.

Mitch forces himself to finish the thought because it’s fucking important.

If this week doesn’t stop them from drifting apart, they’re going to drift away.

At 4:41am Mitch drifts into a fitful sleep.

  



	7. Play the Cards With Spades to Start

It’s 11:14am.  

A weekend in Vegas sounds good. 

Scott isn’t entirely sure how this all came about. He knows Esther planned it, he knows he agreed to it at some point in the last few days, and he’s even pretty sure that this is just an effort to get him out and drinking somewhere other than alone at home. 

That’s kind of how his week’s gone. 

He’s joked before that when Mitch is out of town he just lies on the floor and waits for him to come home. It’s not entirely accurate, but, then again, it isn’t too far from the truth. 

Especially now. 

It made sense to get hammered on Fat Tuesday. That’s what you do, right?  _ Laissez les bon temps rouler _ and all that. The  _ bon temps _ had  _ rouler _ ’ed for quite a few hours until drunk!Scott gave way to sad!Scott. 

Frankly, sad!Scott isn’t the best Scott to be around so he’s done his best to avoid inflicting that on anyone for… two days now? Three? 

The copious amounts of alcohol that kept him a semi-dazed sad!Scott are kind of blurring the timeline but he’s pretty sure it’s been three days that he’s wallowed in self-pity and angst and wine.  

Yes, a weekend in Vegas sounds good. It’ll take his mind off things. 

Things with Mitch, namely, and how everything is fucking falling apart. 

Scott isn’t sure if it’s easier to think about all this sober, like he is now, or if he prefers the wallowing aspect of the program. He’s got a little over an hour before he needs to leave for the airport so the drinking is on hold until he’s safely in Sin City with a group of people who are probably a bit concerned for him and the fact that he hasn’t exactly been himself lately. 

It hit him as he was driving home from dropping Mitch at the airport for his flight to Paris. It actually hit him so hard that he’d had to pull off the 105 and into a McDonald’s parking lot until he got his shit together. 

He’s jealous. 

He’s jealous and that is not a good thing. 

The snarky comment during that near-disastrous Superfruit episode - he said it because he was  _ jealous  _ of the boys Mitch was with. He’d been keeping to himself because he was  _ jealous  _ when Mitch would swipe right on Tinder, or talk about going out with whatever loser whose name he didn’t care to learn because it never mattered, or that particularly vomit-worthy evening when he’d come home to Mitch and some rando chatting away in the kitchen like it was no big deal. 

And, okay, that last one wasn’t a big deal. But it felt like one and that’s the problem because Mitch was talking to some other guy and that’s a totally normal thing to do but it didn’t feel like it. 

And that’s when Scott knew he was fucked.  

So, yes. A trip to Vegas is a good fucking idea because there will be drinks and boys and friends and hopefully some combination of the three will be enough to get his head out of his ass. 

There’s an urgent need for the recto-cranial inversion because Scott fucked his best friend and caught feelings. 

It’s 12:30pm and Scott climbs into the Uber to LAX so he can fly to Vegas and make this all go away. 


	8. Rebel Fashion Junkie

It’s 11:28am. 

Some quick mental math as he looks at the incoming Facetime request and Mitch figures it’s something like 2:30 in the morning Vegas time. That probably means it’s a very drunk Scott on the other end of the call and Mitch isn’t sure he wants to deal with that right now. 

Fuck. 

His thumb hovers over the notification, trying to decide if he should answer or not. 

He doesn’t. 

He feels kind of terrible after a moment. There was no reason for that, really. It’s been a quiet week. He’s sent a few snaps to Scott of new things he bought and cool places he saw and received a few in return of Scott making a goofy face or, now, partying his ass off in Vegas and that’s been the extent of their communication. It’s been...odd, but, at the same time Mitch is feeling  _ good  _ and his head is clearer and this is his last day in Paris and he doesn’t know if drunk!Scott is going to be weird!Scott. 

It’s been an amazing week, and for more reasons than the red carpet and the new tattoo and more clothes than he can even really deal with. He’s been able to  _ think  _ without a constant cloud of doubt and awkwardness hanging over everything. He hasn’t had to tiptoe. 

Absence may make the heart grow fonder but it also gives you a certain clarity. 

He’s not handling this any better than Scott is. They  _ sorta  _ talked once about that night and rather than bring it up again Mitch has been trying to put everything behind him, pun not intended, and pretend nothing happened. That obviously hasn’t been working too well. Between feeling like he’s been walking on eggshells and Scott being snippy, maybe ignoring the problem isn’t actually helping it. 

Funny, that. 

And it’s more than a little annoying that he  _ still  _ can’t remember if the sex was good enough to risk everything. 

Mitch leans his forehead against the car window, looking out as the rain falls and the city passes him by. The driver turns onto Av. Montaigne. 

If Scott calls again he’ll answer. 

But first he has some important business named Gucci to attend to. 


	9. Russian Roulette Is Not the Same Without a Gun

It’s 3:51am. 

Scott’s sprawled in a chair in the living room of this fancy-ass hotel suite idly pretending to watch TV but really checking his phone every few minutes to see if Mitch was going to return his Facetime. He’d begged off partying ‘til dawn with the intention of getting some sleep - no, really! - but that isn’t going so well. The bar three feet away hasn’t helped, either. Now instead of drinking alone at home, he’s drinking alone in a hotel in Vegas. 

Vegas and friends and boys and drinks didn’t make everything go away. 

It has, however, made him think. 

He’s been an asshole the last couple weeks. He’s been an asshole and the first step in removing his head from said orifice is to apologize to his best friend for being a miserable bitch. And sure, he could wait, what, like 24 hours until they’re both back home but he’s impatient and guilt-ridden and drunk and now seems as good a time as any. 

But Mitch is probably too busy shopping and kissing boys - Scott bites back a frown on that thought - to talk. 

Still. Maybe he should try one more time. 

Besides, Scott misses him like crazy - as in he feels as though he’s going just a little insane. 

He taps to call Mitch before he can change his mind and, in the brief second between seeing the call has connected and Mitch’s face appearing on his phone screen, Scott nearly vomits from the stress. 

Mitch smiles at him, dimples and all. “Hey, Daddy.” 

Scott forgets everything he’d wanted to say. “Hey...hi.”  _ Breathe, breathe, remember to breathe _ . “You look...you look great.” 

Mitch rolls his eyes, still smiling. “She looks like a drowned rat. It won’t stop fucking raining. And you look like you’ve been up ‘til 4 in the morning drinking. How’s Veg?” 

“It’s...fun. There’s a stripper pole in one of the showers.” 

Mitch tilts his head, smile turning into a look of confusion. “A what? Did you say a stripper pole?”

Suddenly feeling like he has a purpose, Scott staggers to his feet. “Yeah. Yeah, check this shit out.” He makes his way zig-zaggedly from the chair, through one of the bedrooms, and into the bathroom. “See?” he says, lining the phone up so it can capture him clumsily holding the pole and faux-seductively rolling his shoulders. 

Mitch blinks once, twice, three times and then sputters out a laugh. 

Getting up and moving has done ugly things to Scott’s head. He lets go of the stripper pole and stumbles towards his bed. “It’s absolutely fucking ridiculous,” he slurs as he does some semblance of walking. “Remind me to tell you later. This place is ridiculous.” The bed is nice as his body hits it. 

He can see Mitch gesturing at someone on his end of the call, making a circular motion in the air. “ _ Conduis, s'il vous plaît. Oui _ . More, go around again.”  

Scott feels bad. “You have stuff to do, you wanna go, or…?” 

Mitch waves his hand dismissively. “It’s fine, henny. I hope I told the driver to drive around a little more. I think you need some sleep, though.” 

Scott nods. “I do. Oh, wait,” he suddenly remembers that there was a reason he’d called Mitch at whatever-the-fuck-o’clock it is. He shifts around in bed, getting comfortable and arranging his phone so it’s propped against the pillow next to him. “I miss you,” he blurts as he racks his brain for the nice apology he’d thought up earlier. The smile it earns him is dazzling. “And I’m - look, I’ve been an asshole lately. And I’m sorry.” 

“Lately?” Mitch replies, eyebrow cocked. “You’re always an asshole, but you sure have taken it up a few notches.” 

“I won’t be anymore. Well, I’m going to try to be better, at least.” Scott feels his eyes well with tears. The words stung, but Scott knows they’re true. What’s important, though, is that Mitch doesn’t look particularly mad. He’s not thrilled, but he’s not mad. 

On the screen, Mitch is shaking his head. “I hope so, but we should save this conversation for when we’re both sober and awake. Sleep, okay? Want me to stay on the line until you’re out?” 

Scott nods and, just in case it’s too dark to see clearly, “Yeah.” 

“M’kay,” Mitch says. “Close your eyes. I love you.” 

“Love you, Mitchy.” 

At 4:38am Vegas time, Facetime disconnects as Scott snores quietly. 


	10. If I Had a Highway, I Would Run For the Hills

It’s 3:12pm and all Mitch can do is sigh. 

He may have gone just a bit too far. It’s just...it’s all too much and he has no idea how to even begin to tackle this whole thing. 

What a fucking mess. 

He’s sitting in the middle of his bedroom floor, head in hands, when he hears the soft shuffle of footsteps approaching down the hall. He recognizes the tread before he looks up wearily, a quiet, grumbly “ehhhhh” confirming that Scott is, in fact, on his way in. 

Wow. Boy is a disaster. He grunts an “eh” in Mitch’s general direction as he lurches through the doorway, eyes puffy and hair a tangled mop, before he continues on his trajectory with hands reaching forward. Mitch can tell that Scott just woke up, that he’s hungover as hell, and that he feels like he was hit by a truck. None of that is stopping Mr. Grabby Hands, though.

“Pretty,” Scott murmurs, sounding like he’d been chewing gravel. His outstretched hands meet the pink garment he’d been reaching for just as Mitch yelps. “That is a twenty-fucking-thousand dollar Gucci, go wash your hands right the fuck now!” 

Scott frowns. “Just did. Welcome home. Now hush.” Mitch isn’t sure he believes him; if there’s anything nasty on that coat Scott is buying him a new one. 

“Hmph. You look like hell,” Mitch points out as Scott continues to pet the pink fur jacket. 

“Feel like it,” Scott replies. “May have overdone things just a bit. You look stressed.” 

Mitch gestures around him, clothes piled everywhere. “Yeah. I may have overdone the shopping. I don’t even know where to start. Please stop stroking my Gucci.” Scott’s eyes skitter over the half-unpacked suitcases and stacks of clothes surrounding Mitch and one side of his mouth lifts in a semi grin; he finally takes his grubby mitts away from the precious. 

And Mitch feels… better. About them, about the awkwardness, about the fear of everything falling apart. He doesn’t know why, but maybe there’s hope.  

“If you come get food with me I’ll help you put shit away when I feel more human,” Scott offers. 

This sounds doable. Mitch looks over the mess and sighs again. “M‘kay. As long as it’s not Taco Bell.” 

“Dammit. Fine,” Scott mutters. He looks down at the floor for a second, then, “Do I get a hello hug, or…?” 

“Did you shower yet?” 

Scott sniffs an armpit. “Not today. I just woke up.” 

“Fucking nasty,” Mitch grumbles at him, but softens when Scott looks genuinely hurt. “Fine, but come help me up.” Scott carefully navigates the maze of fashion covering the floor and pulls Mitch to his feet. 

And the hug brings more comfort to Mitch than he’d been aware he needed. 

“I  _ am  _ sorry,” Scott says quietly into Mitch’s hair. “For being such an asshole and all.” 

In that moment, Mitch thinks that everything might just be okay. 


	11. Up Until the Chorus To the Verse

It’s 5:58pm. 

“And I am not kidding you, the one bed had hydraulics, y’know, like on those cars that go -” Scott uses his hand to pantomime a car rising, falling, and bucking around while making robotic noises, nearly flinging a piece of sushi in the process. “Who the fuck thought it was a good idea to put  _ that  _ in a city full of drunk people? I didn’t want to think about how many times it’d been puked on.” 

“Soooo,” Mitch drawls. “A stripper pole in the shower and a hydraulic bed? Classy, Stephanie. Classy.” 

“Hey, don’t forget that the stripper shower had a glass wall to the living room so everyone could see right in! I haven’t even gotten to the in-room DJ booth thing yet, either. I still don’t know what Esther was thinking when she booked that ridiculous suite.” Scott grins. “It gave me some ideas though.” 

Mitch drops his chopsticks on the table with a clatter and throws his hands in the air. “Nope. Don’t wanna hear it.” 

Scott tilts his head and looks at him, perplexed at the outburst. “But… I thought you said you were up for filming tonight.” 

“What?” 

“It’s Monday. Superfruit, remember?” 

“Okay, but what does that have to do with your freaky hotel?” Mitch picks his chopsticks back up and aggressively pinches a piece of salmon. 

“I - wait, what? I had an idea for the episode. What the hell are you talking about?” Maybe it’s the hangover, but Scott is not following at all here. 

Mitch blinks a few times before shoveling a few pieces of fish in his mouth. “Oh,” he mumbles around the food. “Whattya thinkin’?”

It’s got to be the hangover. None of what just happened makes sense. Scott rubs his temples, then runs a hand through his hair. “Um. Okay. So, yeah, I was thinking we could do some sort of freestyle rap challenge…” 

\---

It’s 10:14pm and Scott is sitting on Mitch’s bedroom floor, helping him sort through the astounding number of new garments he’d somehow managed to bring home. 

“Oh, hey,” Mitch said, carefully hanging a shirt on a hanger. “I meant to ask - are you doing your thing? Because I wasn’t clear on that.” 

“You can fuck yourself. I spit mad flow.” Scott knows he’s going to regret having the rap challenge idea to begin with, let alone actually posting that trainwreck. If he’s honest with himself, though, he’s pretty fucking happy with how that shoot went - and, actually, how pretty much the whole day went. 

It’s been normal. It’s almost how it’s always been. It’s been great.

Maybe Scömìche is back. 

“So, I was thinking,” Mitch says after a comfortable silence. “We should probably have a talk.”

 


	12. Head Stuck In a Cycle

10:23pm isn’t a great time to watch your best friend’s face crumble, not that there’s ever really a  _ good  _ time for that. 

Mitch realizes he probably could have chosen better phrasing. Nothing good comes from any permutation of “we need to talk,” though he hopes in this case that it won’t be a clusterfuck. 

It ain’t gonna be pretty, though. 

“Right. Yeah,” Scott mumbles, averting his eyes. His entire bearing seems to slump. 

Mitch sighs. “Look. You want me to be blunt or should I just keep dancing around the topic like we’ve been doing?” 

Another silence, long enough that Mitch begins to think Scott won’t answer, then, finally, “Be blunt.” 

“Pretending we didn’t fuck isn’t working out so well. I know I haven’t been the best company the last few weeks, but at least I haven’t been a complete ass.” Mitch gives his friend a pointed look, remaining silent until Scott looks up and meets his gaze. 

“Mitch, I said I was sorry. I  _ am  _ sorry -” 

“Sorry is fine,” Mitch cuts him off. “But what the fuck, Scott? The most exciting part about going to Paris was knowing that I wouldn’t have to hear your jabs and snide comments for an entire week. I’ve been uncomfortable in my own home because I never knew if you’d find some new and exciting way of making me feel like a whore. Do you know how much it sucked wanting to be far, far away from you?” 

Stricken. That’s a good way to describe the expression that comes over Scott’s face. He looks stricken. “I - no, you’re not a whore and I don’t think you are. That’s not…” he trails off. 

“You say that,” Mitch replies after a moment, struggling to keep his voice even. “You say that, but what else do you mean when you make little comments about Tinder, or claiming I’m with a boy every day, or when you roll your eyes and glare when I have friends over? Suddenly I feel like I’m being judged for every interaction I have with anyone and that I’m coming up lacking in your mind.”  

It’s interesting, the flurry of emotions that Scott displays as Mitch talks. There’s guilt, anger, annoyance, more guilt, scolded-puppy-guilt, and finally something unreadable. “I don’t know what you want me to say,” he nearly whispers, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. 

He can be infuriating sometimes. 

“Scott,” Mitch closes his eyes and takes a deep, calming breath. “Look, sweetheart, this isn’t, like, a test with right and wrong answers. What I  _ want  _ is to tell you what I’m feeling, and for you to tell me what’s going on your head. That hasn’t been happening and, in case you didn’t notice, ignoring the problem isn’t solving it.” 

Scott’s back to the scolded-puppy-guilt face. The dynamic is odd; Mitch hasn’t raised his voice and he feels pretty good about how calm he’s been, so it doesn’t make sense that Scott would look like he’s cowering. He reaches out and rests his hand on the blonde’s forearm. 

“Now’s the time where you take a turn and tell me about the inner machinations of your mind because they’re an enigma,” Mitch gently prods. 

 


	13. With Your James Dean Glossy Eyes

It’s 10:32pm. 

If there’s one thing Scott’s sure of it’s that he won’t be admitting the jealousy thing now or probably ever. 

This decision leaves him with an unsavory choice: keep refusing to talk, or lie to his best friend’s face. Neither option is good but only one might buy him enough time to get himself under control. 

“I just -” Scott begins, his eyes on Mitch’s hand which is still resting on his arm. “I have, like, zero negative feelings about you. That’s not it at all.” Thoughts racing, he tries to come up with any other explanation for his behavior. 

“I’ve been… I’m trying to find the right words here,” Scott stalls as Mitch looks at him encouragingly; his gentle smile and the kindness in his eyes makes Scott feel like the worst person in the world. He drops his eyes back down at Mitch’s hand, now softly patting his. “I’ve felt so fucking  _ guilty  _ for weeks now, Mitchy. So, so guilty. I guess I didn’t know, like, how I was supposed to be acting. I was trying not to be weird, but when I would feel that guilt I… well, I think I tried to cover it up by being goofy and snarky. And it just came out all wrong. I am so sorry for being a total bitch and making you feel… like that.” 

Nailed it.

“I promise I’m going to pay more attention to what I say and how I say it. I never meant to hurt you,” Scott looks back up at Mitch, his friend’s expression now downright serene. This is good. It’s a good explanation, and, really, not  _ too  _ far from the whole truth and nothing but the truth. 

“Alright,” Mitch says quietly after a minute. “Okay, see, we just need to talk about this shit before it gets out of hand, right?” 

Scott nods enthusiastically. “Yeah. Yeah, I really fucked up not talking to you about all this…” 

“Mhm,” Mitch agrees. “We both kind of did and that’s dumb. We can talk to each other about anything.” 

Ouch. 

Scott doesn’t have long to dwell on how true that last statement is  _ supposed  _ to be before Mitch changes the subject. 

“She’s tired, Steph. Remind me who’s flying where and when this week and then I’m gonna sleep.”  

Glad to have something else to think about, Scott mentally goes over their schedules. “I’m going home to meet Archer on Wednesday, then flying into New York early Sunday. Your flight is later on Sunday… I think 3ish, but I’ll double check and remind you tomorrow. We’ll both be in New York in time to get dinner Sunday.”  

“Ugh,” Mitch groans. “And then meetings. M’kay, gimme a hug and then get the hell out. Mama needs her beauty rest.” 

It’s 11:06pm when Scott heads out of Mitch’s room. He’s feeling pretty good - guilt at the lies aside - and making plans to use the next few days to get this ridiculous jealousy bullshit out of his system once and for all so things can go back to normal. Everything is going to be okay. 

He steals another glance at Mitch before leaving and finds his previously calm and serene expression now crestfallen. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think the end is near, friends...


	14. I Can See You Staring There From Across the Block

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kind of love this chapter.

  _7:12pm Mitch: just landed. get dinner, i’ll grab food on the way or room svc or something._  
_7:13pm Scott: I can wait if u want._  
_7:16pm Mitch: nah, gonna be a while_  
_7:17pm Scott: :( ok, call me when you’re settled. x_

 Because of course the flight would be delayed. Because of course. Mitch is already on edge as it is. This week in NYC is a Big Fucking Deal and he already has a million other things on his mind and having to spend even more time in yet another fucking airport is just the cherry on the whole shit sundae.

It’s 9:48pm when he finally drops his bags in his hotel room and two minutes later he’s got a room service order placed. Thirteen minutes after that he’s got dinner and a bottle of wine in front of him and is no closer to relaxing than he was before.

This is scary. The next few days are going to intertwine their lives even more than they already are and with everything going on that thought is, frankly, terrifying. Everything he’s ever wanted - it’s in hand, or just about to be, and the fragility of it all has never seemed as certain as it does right now.

 _10:20pm Scott: getting a little worried, let me know you’re safe?_  
_10:22pm Mitch: I’m fine, room service just brought dinner. Fuck United._

At 10:24pm there’s a knock at the door and Scott’s blue eye on the other side of the peephole.

“Hey - oof,” Mitch’s greeting when he opens the door is cut off as Scott nearly tackles him in a hug.

“Oh my god, I am so glad to see you! I’ve been here for hours and I’m so excited and nervous and I had no one to talk to. This week is going to be amazing! Archer is so cute, I have a billion pictures to show you.” Scott chatters excitedly as he flails his way into the room. “How was the flight? What’d you get for dinner?”

Mitch blinks at him.

“What?” Scott asks.

“Fuck, Catherine, settle,” Mitch says, sitting back down at his uneaten dinner. “Flight was shitty, I have some bullshit kale and quinoa thing but I wish it was pizza with a side of pizza, and _why_ is it like two degrees outside? It’s fucking March. Now hush and let me pretend to enjoy eating this.”

Scott pantomimes pulling a zipper across his lips and flops on the bed, scrolling through Twitter on his phone. From experience Mitch knows he’s got approximately seven minutes of blessed silence.

Make that five minutes. “Did the front desk give you my extra room key?” Scott asks. “I told them to but you know how that goes.”

Fuck this kale shit. Mitch nods and pushes the room service cart out of the way. “Yeah. Here’s mine,” he says, reaching for his bag and digging around to find the extra key card to his room. He tosses it at Scott.

“Okay, werk. So tomorrow we’ve got a writing sesh at 10, and then…” Scott begins rattling off their itinerary for the week but Mitch can’t bring himself to pay attention. He’s still stuck on the uncertainty.

Mitch isn’t sure how long he tuned Scott out, but he becomes dimly aware of his friend trying to get his attention. “Hey, Cassandra. Helllooooo. Mitchy?” He blinks as Scott’s hand waves in front of his face.  

_We can talk to each other about anything._

Mitch looks up and meets Scott’s eyes. “I know when you’re lying to me. You know that, right?”

The carefree smile fades from Scott’s face. “....wait, what?”

Mitch tops up his wine glass. “Monday. You were lying to me. You’ve always been a terrible liar. You weren’t being an asshole for the last month because you felt guilty. I don’t know the real reason, but guilt wasn’t it.”

Scott gapes at him like a fish out of water and suddenly there’s too much pent-up anxiety for Mitch to sit still. He stands and begins to pace, a little wine sloshing out of the glass and over his hand. “So now here we are in New York fucking City with a week’s worth of writing sessions and meetings and studio time ahead of us and all I can fucking think about is that you had no problem looking me in the eye and lying to me. And, see, that’s an issue because moving ahead with the Superfruit music is another way that we’re stuck together - like, legally stuck together. Like, might as well be married-legally stuck together, and you know hard it is for me to trust someone enough to go on more than like five dates let alone music contracts and shit. And now I feel like I’m staring down the barrel of a gun because we’re about to jump off a fucking cliff here and you lied to my face.”

Mitch drains the glass in one gulp, pausing in his restless pacing to, on some level, enjoy the panic positively radiating from Scott. “I...wait - no…” Scott stammers, but Mitch doesn’t let him finish.

“You know the worst part? The absolute worst part about all of this? I have no fucking idea if it was worth it! We apparently can’t talk to each other anymore. You’re lying about what you think of me. We - you and me - are falling apart. I’m terrified to take the next step in our fucking dream because we can’t make music if we hate each other. And I don’t know if the sex was worth everything that’s gone tits-up because I sure as fuck don’t remember it no matter how much I want to. And I really, really want to.”

There are tears now - from both of them.

“I didn’t want to upset you,” Scott manages when Mitch stops for a breath. “I didn’t - I didn’t want to tell you the truth because I didn’t want to put my stupid confused feelings on you.”

“What about _my_ feelings?” Mitch erupts, and suddenly the anger and hurt and stress and confusion boils over. In one fluid, and oddly masculine, motion, Mitch turns and throws his empty wineglass into the bathroom where it explodes into a million pieces on the tile. He’s pretty sure his heart is faring about as well.

The shattering of glass seems to echo forever.

Mitch slowly turns his head to look at Scott. He’s frozen in shock, but after a moment the blonde takes a few steps closer, arms reaching out.

“Are you hurt? Did you get cut?” he asks quietly. Mitch shakes his head.

“Are you drunk?” The question jars Mitch back to reality.

“What? No. I didn’t even finish one glass before losing my mind.” It’s such an odd question that Mitch reflexively answers in a calm, conversational tone. “Why would you ask me if I’m drunk?”

 Scott stares at him for what nearly becomes an uncomfortably long time. “Because,” he says finally. “I’m going to tell you the truth. And after I do that I’m probably going to kiss you.”

 


	15. J'veux Ton Amour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was editing this yesterday (4/26) when the fandom exploded.  
> Awkward. :) 
> 
> I'm sad this one is finished. I had a lot of fun writing it and made a lot of progress working on my brevity.  
> Thanks to everyone for all the love! You guys are amazing!  
> I'll be back with more stuff after finals.

It’s 10:59pm. Mitch’s face is strangely expressionless.

Scott takes another step towards him. “Can I… do you want a hug?”

Mitch nods and Scott closes the distance between them in two long strides, welcoming the familiar body into his embrace. Neither say anything for what seems forever.

“I’m sorry,” Mitch says softly into Scott’s shoulder. “Y’know, for that little tantrum. That wasn’t okay.”

Scott gives him a squeeze. “S’alright. I don’t blame you. We’ll get everything taken care of. Do you want to talk?”

Mitch nods again and Scott somewhat reluctantly releases him, wiping his eyes. “Get your bag, get your wine,” he says, walking over to the room phone and picking it up.

“Front desk, how can I help you?” comes the pleasant voice on the other end.

“Hi,” Scott puts on his fake professional voice without needing to think about it. “I am _so_ sorry but I accidentally dropped a glass in my bathroom and it shattered. There’s broken glass everywhere. Is anyone available to help get it cleaned up?”

Scott watches Mitch watch him as he finishes with the front desk and it’s maddening that he can’t tell what his friend is thinking.

“C’mon. My room’s three doors down. We’ll hang out there while they get things situated here, okay?”

It’s too short a walk for Scott to gather his thoughts, not that it matters much. He’s got nothing to lose from the truth at this point. What’s the worst that could happen?

“I was an ass because I was jealous,” Scott says from where he’d flopped down on the bed, then corrects himself. “Am. Am jealous. Present tense.”

Mitch had been hovering awkwardly, but at Scott’s words he sits on the bed next to him. “Jealous? Of what??” He sounds bewildered.

“Because I had another shot with you, even if it was just for the one night, and I fucked it up by being too drunk to remember anything.” Scott stares at the ceiling, not ready to see Mitch’s reaction to the stark admission. “The guys on Tinder, the two-dates-and-they’re-gone losers, whatever, they’d at least get to remember. I got drunk, risked the single most important thing in my life, and I don’t even get spank bank material out of it.”

Scott grins when Mitch sputters a laugh at his phrasing, then rolls on his side and props his head on his fist. Mitch mirrors him, scooting close. “I didn’t know how to deal with it and I made everything worse. Fuck, I still don’t know if I’m dealing with it the right way. I have no fucking idea _what_ I’m doing except trying not to lose you. Not that lying is okay but, I mean, do you at least kind of understand why I wasn’t exactly comfortable admitting this?”

“Maybe,” Mitch replies after a brief silence. “This is… a lot to process.” His expression is still largely unreadable but there’s an arch to his brow, a languidness to his posture that tells Scott this conversation isn’t going badly.  

They study each other until Mitch breaks the silence. “I thought you said you were going to kiss me.”

Sometimes, once in awhile, words are stupid and overrated.

This is one of those times.

And it’s not their first kiss, of course, but Scott treasures it like it could be their last. He’s all too aware of how easily things can fall apart.

A minute passes, maybe an hour.

“I forgive you, for the lying thing,” Mitch says quietly, some amount of time after they part. “But don’t fucking do it again.”

“I won’t,” Scott promises, chin resting on the top of Mitch’s head. Another silence. “Now what?”

“I don’t want to be in a relationship,” Mitch answers.

“Not unexpected,” Scott can’t help but laugh a little. “What _do_ you want?”

“You. Us. This,” he pauses. “Sometimes, though. At least for now.”

This is quite possibly the best answer Scott could’ve hoped to hear. “Alright.”

Words are still stupid and overrated, at least for now.

But Scott needs just a few more. “It’s like 1 in the morning. Wanna stay?”

A breath. A breath. A quiet exhale, not quite a laugh. “Yeah.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you paid attention to the chapter titles & the associated songs along the way! :)


End file.
